


Let Me Be Your Savior

by leonci



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, M/M, One-Sided Sibling Incest, Prostitution, Roman Catholicism, World War II
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-01-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:00:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22461514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leonci/pseuds/leonci
Summary: *NOT MINE, SEE A/N* AU. Priest Feliciano, 23 years old, is suffering, and needs saving. And though he cannot see it, a male prostitute named Ludwig, from Germany, will show him the truth: that both men need saviors.
Relationships: Germany/North Italy (Hetalia), North Italy/South Italy (Hetalia)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 24





	1. Prologue (Edited)

before you read: THIS IS NOT MY ORIGINAL WORK. this is an old fanfiction under the same title, authored by LightOfAThousandSuns. it was a very popular fic on ffnet but it has been deleted for years but I scrounged up a copy after a literal decade of searching. This is an edited version of the prologue, if you want to read the original version please comment and I can send you . theres more notes at the end if u care to read  
_______________________________________________________

"Where there is sorrow, there is holy ground"  
\- Oscar Wilde

Ravenna, Italy, 1912

Feliciano Vargas’ four years of life on this Earth were not enough to help him remember when it was time for bed, where he had last set his aged family-heirloom Bible, the name of the mailman who delivered the daily letters and donations to the church, and so on and so forth. 

However, as though a miracle bestowed by the Almighty himself, Feliciano always knew when it was time to light the candles for the day's Mass.

It was an unusual and dangerous job for a child of his age, but his grandfather had insisted that his grandchildren acquire tasks in the sanctuary early on, for in due time, both Feliciano and his brother would inherit the duties of the church in the footsteps of Grandfather.

Between the foggy and childlike recollections of his life lived snippets too raw for his brain to distort- his father’s grief-stricken wails when his mother had passed away from sickness one summer, and that winter being swept up with his brother into Father Roma’s arms, head pressed against the broad chest as they hurried past his fathers body, taken by a disease of the mind which Feliciano was yet too young to grasp.

"They must have a secure upbringing! Do we want them following in their father's footsteps?” The pastor who would become known as Grandfather, had bellowed at the nun whom lived in the church as well. The nun, Stefania, had taken the role as the boys’ mother, for in her deepest heart, she had always wanted a family.

"Father, please, you must relax," she replied, "They are in your care; by the grace of God no more harm shall be done to their fragile minds."  
Stefania was, thank the Lord above, stable-minded. She had devoted her entire life to the Church. When Grandfather Roma had welcomed her into his own personal cathedral, Stefania did not divulge the details of her past in their entirety; that was no matter for Roma. He knew that there was hurt behind those dark green eyes, someone had once pained the nun enough to where God had become her only solace.

And Stefania had been right about Grandfather's guidance. The boys stayed out of harm's way, as much as two young boys could be expected to. Thankfully, the little episodes of brotherly bickering, bantering, pushing, shoving, and so on, took place outside the cathedral, and outside of Roma's daily masses.

Ah, the cathedral…that would forever remain a memory in little Felici's mind; and so would be this particular day. As the young boy strode down the left walkway in the church, he clutched in his hands a small pack of matches, and a long pole with tongs at the end.

When Grandfather had assigned both he and Lovino their "chores" in the church, Feliciano had jumped at the chance to light the candles in the large, ancient building. Roma had laughed triumphantly, agreeing with the boy, but Stefania had objected, saying "Playing with fire is NOT a task for a four year old! Besides, he is so small!"  
Feliciano (and Roma) had both whined "I can do it! I can do it!" and "Yeah, he can do it!”. The argument went back and forth for what seemed hours; it must have been hours, for eventually, Lovino left with a bored yawn to go tend the church's rose garden. 

But, an agreement was eventually reached; Feliciano would be allowed to light the candles, under Stefania's supervision and guidance. He would also need to use a tool to reach the higher candles, and the wise old nun devised the gold-painted pole. The tongs would securely hold the lit match, and all Feliciano would have to do was stretch as much as he could, and light the candle that was secure in its holder. Sometimes, if the boy's strength was waning, Stefania would lift him up, but he always pouted and whined whenever she did such a thing.  
So Stefania mainly took to hiding in the corner, a watchful eye trained on Feliciano; it had taken him months to learn to strike a match correctly, the poor dear always burning his little fingers, but by now despite his age he was a professional.

It was odd, really. A four year old lighting candles; but Roma kept insisting these children had 'inherited his greatness' (there was always an eyebrow waggle after he said such a thing, and it made Stefania sigh and shake her head). Which, in truth, was not really a stretch. The boys were prodigal when it came to speaking. Roma had made sure sure the boys were learning the other nearest languages, hoping to focus on German and Spanish next, and eventually English. For, once they took over, Grandfather hoped his 'sons' would become traveling pastors, at least around Europe.

The Pastor asked much of these children, but it was, in all ineffability, for the best; Roma did not know it, but his time on this earth was short.  
Even Feliciano, as he bounced down the walkway, taking his match to the candles, had no idea; but his childish mind could not yet grapple with such thoughts, these ideas of death and mortality. 

But his mind could comprehend Grandfather's current words, for it was during a mass, on this certain day, that Feliciano was doing his Holy Duty.  
And the young boy would come to remember his Grandfather's words all too clearly, the old man’s effortlessly fluid, impassioned voice floating through the air,  
“If I give all I possess to the poor and exult in the surrender of my body, but have not love, I gain nothing.”

Roma cleared his throat, his eyes downcast, looking at the piece of paper fitted snugly into the podium made of rugged oak, and once more looking up, his voice booming all throughout the cathedral- each man, woman, and child sitting up straighter. When Father Roma spoke, all listened; when Father Roma cried, all wept. And when Father Roma angered, all either fled his wrath, or fought along his side.

"Love is patient; love is kind and envies no one. Love is never boastful, nor conceited, nor rude;never selfish, not quick to take offense. There is nothing love cannot face…"  
Feliciano's own ears perked up to listen; he had been in the midst of lighting an alcove's set of candles, where a picture of the Virgin Mary was seated around bushels of thornless red and white roses.

"Ohh…" The boy was enthralled; though many words escaped his understanding, together they were beautiful, floating in the air, entering his cerebral cortex, implanting into his memory; years from now, Feliciano would remember this particular mass, and the quote from the Holy Book which shaped his mentality.

"There is no limit to its faith, its hope, and endurance."

But, Oh! Poor Feliciano, standing there, watching his Grandfather gesture so enthusiastically, so wonderfully, had forgotten about the flaming match in his little hand. Thankfully, Stefania was not far, as always, and lifted him gently from the ground, holding him close, while slyly blowing out the match, lest the priest-in-training burn his skin.

"Is he not wonderful, Felici?" She whispered, "And some day, you're going to be just like him"

"In a word, there are three things that last forever: faith, hope, and love;but the greatest of them all is love."

Feliciano nodded; yes, yes! He would be just like Roma, it was his dream! It was his destiny to serve this church, with its beautiful stained-glass windows depicting the New and Old Testaments; the grand images of Mother Mary, the cushioned pews that were always filled to capacity every Sunday, and even sometimes on the weekdays. Feliciano was dreaming of having it all, he and his brother.

This was their life, preordained by Fate. Agony had caused his mother's death, while Sin had caused his father's suicide (according to Grandfather, anyway); but Fate was the puppet-master of both, so It was what had strung and created Feliciano's life so far. And Fate was God's hand, and God's hand was destiny, yes, yes! Grandfather's teachings were true indeed!

"Praise be to God." The echo of the mass' patrons filled the giant cathedral, and not two seconds later did the choir begin to sing a holy melody. Feliciano would not recall the song, many years later, but he would recall his Grandfather's words, and how his strong arms were gesturing about, how he was joining in on the choir's singing.

"S-Stefania?"

"Yes, my little Felici?"

The boy picked at his white robes ("It's never too early to get them dressed for success!" Roma had bellowed), and fixed his snow-hued cap, "I'm going to be just like him?"

"Ah, of course, darling, don't you want to be?"

Feliciano nodded, eyes glowing, in awe of his guardian, and he even quietly applauded, causing the nun to laugh.

It would be the last glorious day Feliciano could remember.

A year later, Roma was found dead in his bedroom, having contracted a fatal disease; though Lovino and Feliciano pressed Stefania to tell them the exact cause of death, the nun’s voice would break around mutterings of a broken heart.

The entire church would fall into mourning, and though Lovino was only nine when grandfather would pass, he would take over the pastoral duties.

"It's our duty to Grandfather, Feliciano. He took us in and saved our lives. I know you're only five, but you're going to have to help me, understood?"

"Y-Yeah!" The younger lad had even saluted; if he had known what his brother's future actions were to be, hidden behind dark corridors, in their shared bedroom, Feliciano would not have saluted, and would have run far, far away.

But Fate would play the cards differently; and Feliciano's child-like laugh would die faster than the roses in the winter; Roma's death would take away much, but it was a catalyst for other woes. Taking on the duties as a priest, as Pastor Feliciano, at such a young age would bring about a weight of seriousness to the young mans heart, and though it would warp his soul, there was pain caused by another blood source that would destroy his very happiness. A pain that would change him, make him someone he was not; and there was no one around to cry out to for help.

And nineteen years would pass in monotony, in a pattern of priesthood and pain; eventually, Feliciano had grown up enough to officially become Pastor Feliciano, Priest Feliciano, Father Feliciano, whichever name one wished to call him; he alternated masses with Lovino, kept up his duties that had begun as a child, lighting the candles, tending the garden, cleaning the windows, making sure the bells were in working order. But his main job was to praise and pray; spread the word of the Lord, just like Grandfather had.

But…though he was twenty-three, and had achieved what he had always wanted…He was not like Roma…Roma would not…he would not have…would not allow-

"Feliciano." Strong hands placed themselves on Feliciano's shoulders as he glanced out his bedroom window; the living space was on the eastern side of the church, and he could see the sun rising; a new day was beginning. At first, he was thankful for the distraction, the memories were causing pain in his heart, tears in his eyes…until he realized it was Lovino talking to him.

"Y-Yes brother?" He had jumped when the older priest had touched him, but he hoped Lovino had not noticed.

"We need to go set up for the mass. Did you sleep well?"

How can he just be…so calm…? Like nothing has ever happened…

Feliciano only nodded, responding with, "Is Stefania up? I...um…I could use her help in the garden…"

"I'm letting her sleep in; she has been more tired recently, I fear for her health. Can you handle it on your own for today?"

Another silent nod.

"That's my good brother." Feliciano was still facing the window, but in his mind's eye, he could see that devilish grin on his brother's face.

If Grandfather had never died, none of this would have happened…

Feliciano tried not to cringe as Lovino placed a kiss on the back of his head, before strolling out of the bedroom a moment later; and though he wanted to cry, Feliciano could not utter a sound.  
He could not tell anyone what had happened to his soul, what he was feeling, and what the vile acts that were still continuing were.  
His people, his believers…would they believe him? Doubtful; they revered both brothers, and one against the other? Feliciano knew that more harm than good would come out of reaching out.  
No, no, just stay calm. You're fine. You're over-reacting. You have a duty first, duty before feelings, God before your own problems.  
And Stefania, the poor woman. She had done so much for the boys-both of them. Raising them through childhood, puberty, taking over Roma's roles as guardian. Feliciano could not bear the thought of confessing his turmoil to her; he could not even fathom placing with her the knowledge of what had occurred behind closed doors, quietly enough to where even she would not hear it.  
Enough, enough…you have a job to do, Feliciano…

He swallowed past the tightness in his throat, pushing the haunting memories back into the crevices where they belonged; no, he could not think of himself, not now, not ever. It was his duties that had to come first.

And who knows? Perhaps these trials were a test from God?

…Maybe.

Feliciano's shoulders slumped for just a moment, but after a shake of his head, he straightened up; now was not the time to ponder such a thing, such things-there were people out there that needed him, that needed God's word, that needed saving. His own mind and mentality and body would just have to wait; for long how, though, was left unasked.

Fate, however, had not forgotten Feliciano.

"Hurry up, brother, would you?"

"…Coming!" Feliciano replied as he descended the old narrow staircase, heading into the church.

Tonight Fate would arrive most unceremoniously at the steps of his church.

_____________________________________________

a lot of thoughts on this fic:  
so, ive been searching for this fic for 10 years. i just remember being in love with it so fully when i was 13, after finding it after so long i was emotional. however, i now see that this fic sucks. i still love it dearly, because i have worms in my brain, but the subject matter is handled immaturely, the authors writing style is grating, it’s generally innacurate (a catholic priest having kids? GRANDKIDS? inheriting the church ? it just doesnt happen lads) obviously, this being a fanfiction, its not gonna be accurate and doesnt necessarily have to be but… w/e. i havent really decided how much i’m going to revamp this fic, and im not sure whos actually gonna read it at all so.. let me know if you actualy are, and how much you think i should mess around with the fic, scale 1-5 (1 being barebones basic editing, 5 total revamp. for context, i’d consider the amount of editing on this chapter to be a soft 2.5). im mostly doing this for me but i'll put in more effort if i know someone else is reading. also this isnt the authors fault but it always pissed me off that the literal personification of italy has a spanish last name. i dont even like hetalia anymore wth is wrong with me


	2. Prologue (Unedited)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heres the og untouched prologue, i'll be posting the chapters alternatingly, so if you want to only read the og you can do so. if not, you can just ignore this.

"Where there is sorrow, there is holy ground"

\- Oscar Wilde

City of Ravenna, Italy, 1912

Memory; it was something Feliciano Vargas had never been an expert at, and never would be. Especially now, his early age was such a large hindrance; having only had four years of life on this Earth so far did nothing to make him remember when it was time for bed, where he had last set his aged family-heirloom Bible, what the mailman who delivered the daily letters and donations to the church's name was, and so on and so forth.

But, Feliciano always knew, as if it was a miracle bestowed on the Almighty himself, when it was time to light the candles for the day's mass.

It was an odd, not just dangerous, job for a tot of the Italian's size and age; but, the lad's grandfather had insisted that his grandchildren acquire tasks in the sanctuary early on, for in due time, both Feliciano and his brother would inherit the church, for the Vargas family had been pastors in it for generations.

And though Feliciano's memory in general was a bland ball of mixed wires, that coagulated somuch that the memories became warped, forgotten, or entirely made up due to sheer confusion, there were little tidbits here and there that would forever stand out in the brunette's mind.

His early memories were short, trite, but powerful; his father's cries when his mother had passed away from sickness, the sudden storming of the small cottage he and his older brother, Lovino, by his Grandfather, screaming of their father's apparent suicide in the nearest cold river, that time of the year having been winter. With short speed, Grandfather (or, 'Father', as he also preferred in his church setting) had swept up the Italian brothers, bringing them to live in his church.

"They must have a secure upbringing! Do we want them following in their father's footsteps, dear?" The older Italian, who looked so young and handsome for his age, looking as if his hourglass had stopped at the age of thirty-five permanently, had bellowed at the nun whom lived in the church as well. Stefania, was her name, an elderly woman, the decade of her choice at the time being of the sixties; in essence, Grandfather had thought of the woman as his boys' only motherly influence, so her presence was quite important in the church, not only for the healers and the sinners, but for his, now, children.

"Father, please, you must relax," the lass had replied, "They are in your care; I expect no further harm shall be done to their fragile minds." Stefania was, thank the Lord above, stable-minded. She had devoted her entire life to the Church, ever since eighteen. When Grandfather Roma (though, the man insisted to never be called that) had welcomed the woman into his own personal cathedral, Stefania had failed to divulge her past's true details in their entirety; that was no matter for Roma, he knew. He knew that there was hurt behind those dark green eyes, someone had pained the nun enough to where she only had God as solace.

But, Stefania had been right about Grandfather's guidance. The boys stayed out of harm's way, save for their own personal hi-jinxes. When you have young lads, the nun had had to explain to the pastor, they will get into some forms of trouble. Thankfully, those little episodes of bickering, bantering, pushing, shoving, and so on, took place outside the cathedral, and outside of Roma's daily masses.

Ah, the cathedral…that would always be forever a memory in little Feliciano's mind; and so would be this particular day. As the young Italian strode down the left walkway in the church, he clutched in his hands a small pack of matches, and a long pole with tongs at the end.

When Grandfather had assigned both he and Lovino their "chores" in the church, Feliciano had jumped at the chance to light the candles in the large, hundreds-of-years-old building. Roma had laughed triumphantly, agreeing with the boy, but Stefania had screamed, saying "Playing with fire is NOT a task for a four year old! Besides, he is so small!"

Feliciano (and Roma) had both whined, saying "I can do it! I can do it!" and "Yeah, he can do it!" but, Stefania insisted it was too dangerous, for what if the lad burned the church down!

The argument went back and forth for what seemed hours; it must have been hours, for eventually, Lovino left with a bored yawn to go clean the church's rose garden. The eight year old's attention-span was much, MUCH shorter than Feliciano's. Which was not saying much, since Feliciano's attention-span was about the size of an ant.

But, an agreement was eventually reached; Feliciano would be allowed to light the candles, but under Stefania's supervision and guidance. The boy would also need to use a tool to reach the higher candles, and the wise old nun devised the gold-painted pole. The tongs would securely hold the lit match, and all Feliciano would have to do was stretch as much as he could, and light the candle that was secure in its holder. Sometimes, if the boy's strength was waning, Stefania would lift up the lad, helping him further, but the Vargas boy always pouted and whined whenever she did such a thing.

So Stefania kept, mainly, to hiding in the corner, her watchful eye on Feliciano; it had taken him months to learn to strike a match correctly, the poor dear always burning his little fingers, but now, even though he was only four, the boy was a professional.

It was odd, really. A four year old lighting candles; but Roma kept insisting his grandchildren had 'just inherited his greatness' (there was always an eyebrow waggle after he said such a thing, and it made Stefania sigh and shake her head). Which, in truth, was not really a stretch. The boys were prodigal when it came to speaking and writing their native Italian tongue, despite their ages of four and eight. At this point, Roma was making sure the boys were learning the other nearest languages, hoping to focus on German and Spanish next; he would get around to English, eventually, for he wanted the lads to know a potpourri of the world's tongues. For, once they took over, Grandfather hoped his 'sons' would become traveling pastors, at least around Europe.

The Pastor asked much of his grandchildren, but it was, in all ineffability, for the best; Roma did not know it, but his time was short, coming closer and closer to an end.

Even Feliciano, as he sauntered down the walkway, striking a match ever so often, lighting the candles, had no idea; but his childish mind could not comprehend such thoughts, such ideas of death and mortality. But, his mind could comprehend his Grandfather's current words, for it was during a mass, on this certain day, that Feliciano was doing his Holy Duty.

And the young Vargas would come to remember his Grandfather's words all too clearly, the older man's fluent and beautiful, and if he had not been a holy man, it could have been called seductive, Italian voice floating through the air,

"Ladies, gentlemen…standing here before you, in the face of our Lord, I speak unto you powerful words, words from the Bible itself, words that have always touched my soul…"

Roma cleared his throat, his eyes downcast, looking at the piece of paper fitted snugly into the podium made of rugged oak, and once more looking up, his voice booming all throughout the cathedral, each man, woman, and child and babe sitting up straighter. When Father Roma spoke, all listened; when Father Roma cried, all wept. And when Father Roma angered, all either fled his wrath, or fought along his side.

"Love is patient; love is kind  
and envies no one.  
Love is never boastful, nor conceited, nor rude;  
never selfish, not quick to take offense.  
There is nothing love cannot face…"

Feliciano's own ears perked up to listen; he had been in the midst of lighting an alcove's set of candles, where a picture of the Virgin Mary was seated around bushels of pure red and white roses.

"Ohh…" The Vargas boy was enthralled; he was not sure on what every single word meant, but they were beautiful, floating in the air, entering his cerebral cortex, being implanted into his memory; years from now, Feliciano would remember this particular mass, and the quote from the Holy Book would forever change his mentality.

"There is no limit to its faith,  
its hope, and endurance."

But, Oh! Poor Feliciano, standing there, watching his Grandfather gesture so enthusiastically, so wonderfully, had forgotten about the flaming match in his little hand. Thankfully, Stefania, the grandmotherly lass, was not far, as always, and the nun silently strolled to the boy, and lifted him gently from the ground, holding him close, while slyly blowing out the match, lest the little priest-in-training burn his skin.

"Is he not wonderful, Felici?" Her kind nickname for her, in a way, adopted son, the name and her statemenet buoying out to the boy's ears on a whisper, "And some day, you're going to be just like him…"

"In a word, there are three things  
that last forever: faith, hope, and love;  
but the greatest of them all is love."

All Feliciano did was just nod; yes, yes! He would be just like Roma, it was his dream! It was his destiny to inherit the church, the church and its beautiful stained-glass windows depicting the New and Old Testaments; the beautiful paintings and pictures of Mother Mary, the cushioned pews that were always filled to capacity every Sunday, and even sometimes on the weekdays. Feliciano was dreaming of having it all, he and his brother.

This was their life, preordained by Fate. Agony had caused his mother's death, while Sin had caused his father's suicide (according to Grandfather, anyway); but Fate was the puppet-master of both, so It was what had strung and created Feliciano's life so far.

And Fate was God's hand, and God's hand was destiny, yes, yes! His Grandfather's teachings were true, yes indeed!

"Praise be to God." The echo of the mass' patrons filled the giant cathedral, and not two seconds later did the choir begin to sing a holy melody. Feliciano would not recall the song, many years later, but he would recall his Grandfather's words, and how the strong, young Italian man's arms were gesturing about, how he was joining in on the choir's singing.

"S-Stefania?"

"Yes, my little Felici?"

The Italian boy picked at his white robes ("It's never too early to get them dressed for success, haha!" Roma had bellowed), and fixed his snow-hued cap, "I'm going to be just like him?"

"Aha, of course, darling, don't you want to be?"

Feliciano nodded, his bronze orbs in rapture, in awe of his guardian, and he even quietly applauded, causing the nun holding him to laugh.

…It was to be the last glorious day Feliciano would remember…

A year later, Roma would be found dead in his bedroom, having contracted a deadly disease; though Lovino and Feliciano pressed Stefania to tell them the exact cause of death, the graying girl would always break into tears, and would only whisper broken, fragmented sentences, with words such as "broken heart" and "terrible pain" and "he just…walked away from Roma".

The entire church would fall into mourning, and though Lovino was only nine when his grandfather would pass, he would take over the pastor duties.

"It's our duty to Grandfather, Feliciano. I know you're only five, but you're going to have to help me, understood?"

"Y-Yeah!" The younger lad had even saluted; if he had known what his brother's future actions were to be, hidden behind dark corridors, in their shared bedroom, Feliciano would not have saluted, and would have run, run far away, into someone else's arms.

But Fate would play the cards differently; and Feliciano's child-like laugh would vanish faster than the roses in the winter; Roma's death would take away much, and it could be said that that was what caused Feliciano's agony, but that was too much of a general term. Taking on the duties as a priest, as Pastor Feliciano, at such a young age would bring about a weight of seriousness to the Italian's heart, and though it would warp his soul, to the point where he would need saving, there was pain caused by another blood source that would destroy his very happiness. A pain that would change him, make him someone he was not; and there was no one around to cry out to for help.

And nineteen years would pass in monotony, in a pattern of priesthood and pain; eventually, Feliciano had grown up enough to officially become Pastor Feliciano, Priest Feliciano, Father Feliciano, whichever name one wished to call him; he alternated masses with Lovino, kept up his duties that had begun as a child, lighting the candles, tending the garden, cleaning the windows, making sure the bells were in working order. But his main job was to praise and pray; spread the word of the Lord, just like Grandfather had.

But…though he was twenty-three, and had achieved what he had always wanted…He was not like Roma…Roma would not…he w-would not have…would not feel-

"Feliciano." Strong hands placed themselves on Feliciano's shoulders as the young Italian boy glanced out his bedroom window; the living space was on the eastern side of the church, and he could see the sun rising; a new day was beginning. At first, the Vargas boy was thankful for the distraction, the memories were causing pain in his heart, tears in his eyes…until he realized it was Lovino talking to him.

"Y-Yes brother?" He had jumped when the older priest had touched him, but he hoped Lovino had not noticed.

"We need to go set up for the mass. Did you sleep well?"

How can he just be…so calm…? Like nothing has ever happened…

Feliciano only nodded, responding with, "Is Stefania up? I...um…I could use her help in the garden…"

"I'm letting her sleep in; she has been more tired recently, I fear for her health. Can you handle it on your own for today?"

Another silent nod.

"That's my good brother." Feliciano was still facing the window, but in his mind's eye, he could see that devilish grin on his brother's face.

If Grandfather had never died, none of this would have happened…

Feliciano tried not to cringe as Lovino placed a kiss on the back of his head, and strolling out of the bedroom not a moment later; and though he wanted to cry, the young male could not utter a sound.

He could not tell anyone what had happened to his soul, what he was feeling, and what the vile acts that were still continuing were.

His people, his believers…would they believe him? Doubt it; they revered both brothers, and one against the other? That would be a war that would never occur. And Feliciano, deep down, would feel terrible, awful, if he dragged the parishioners into this mess. Into his feelings.

No, no, just stay calm. You're fine. You're just…o-over-reacting. You have a duty first, duty before feelings, God before your own problems.

And Stefania, the poor woman. She had done so much for the Vargas boys-both of them. Raising them through childhood, puberty, taking over Roma's roles as parent and guardian. Feliciano could not bear the thought of confessing his desires and turmoil to her; he could not even fathom placing with her the knowledge of what had occurred behind closed doors, quietly enough to where even she would not hear it.

Enough, enough…y-you have a job to do, Feliciano…

The lad wiped a tear away, pushing the haunting memories back into the crevices where they belonged; no, he could not think of himself, not now, not ever. It was his duties that had to come first.

And who knows? Perhaps these trials were a test from God?

…Maybe…

Feliciano's shoulders slumped for just a moment, but after a shake of his head, he straightened up; now was not the time to ponder such a thing, such things-there were people out there that needed him, that needed God's word, that needed saving…

His own mind and mentality and body would just have to wait; for long how, though, was left unsaid.

What Feliciano did not know was that the year nineteen-thirty-one was to be a very, very special year for him; and that someone who needed saving, especially, and who would receive the Italian's own special care, was strolling the streets as we speak…

It was too bad no one could tell Feliciano how important that new person would become to him…Fate was staying quiet, just this once.

Feliciano would have to figure it out on his own.

Oh, but he would; and he would discover many, many things about himself.

"Hurry up, brother, would you?"

"…Coming!" Feliciano replied as he strolled down the steps that led to his second-story bedroom, he heading into the church.

Feliciano needed saving; but he would not admit it, for he could not see it.

But someone else would show him this little fact.

And where one would think it would have been the Messiah or God or the Holy Spirit, oh no, none of the Holy entities would come to show Feliciano Vargas this.

His savor would appear in the form of a ragged, worn male prostitute…crash-landing on his doorstep at two in the morning that very night…


	3. Chapter I (Edited)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> some brief non-con in here as a warning.

"Nothing but heaven itself is better than a friend who is really a friend."  
\- Titus Maccius Plautus

Ravenna, Italy, 1931

There are just some things one cannot do in a society; take, for example, Ludwig Beilschmidt, who has committed a dire sin in the city of Ravenna.

He slept with the wrong man.

It wasn’t the first time he’d made the mistake. Ludwig knows the risks he takes with his profession. There have been numerous times when he was solicited by a fiery female, who would lead him to her cottage, commence sexual activity, and not two minutes later would her husband come home, and pound him to bits; of course, he would fight back, and he would fight back well, but… his luck just seemed to run out on him half the time, and his face usually took such a beating, it was unrecognizable for days.

And as for the men, they tended to be worse. If he found himself solicited by a partnered man, if the partner arrived home, or found them in bed together the next morn… it never ended well.  
His luck wasn’t all bad, though. Many a night were successful, him netting a few Lira here or there; and the sex was not half-bad either. But Ludwig was not a prostitute for the sex; well, that was only half true. It was alright, he enjoyed it (only sometimes), but it was more for the money. He needed money.

If Ludwig had been asked if he really wanted this job, a steely glare would have been the response given. Of COURSE he did not want this job, but when you are orphaned at the age of six, survived only by your (unstable, to put it softly) brother, the options are limited.  
Thankfully, his brother Gilbert was nowhere near Ravenna; he was nowhere near Italy in general, having opted to stay in Germany. Ludwig, meanwhile, believing he had nothing to lose, ventured south.

Germany's economy was in dire straits, and the political climate was extremely tense. The seedy Italian underground provided little information on Germany, mainly speaking of the Italian leader instead. And it was because of the unrest, the dire straits, that Ludwig had spent the last few coins he had, chancing a trip to Italy.

With little education, and jobs running short in both nations, he had no choice but to obtain the 'world's oldest profession'. Ludwig had never been given the chances that many other Germans had received; the places he and Gilbert had occupied were rat-holes, not caring of his supposedly strong bloodline; granted, neither brother knew a great amount about their late relatives. Grandfather, with his flowing blonde hair, had been a quiet soul, and rarely spoke of his family. With his death, images of being in three (or was it four? Five?) orphanages before turning seventeen were the only memories that truly stood out in Ludwig's mind. His brain could recall little else.

It was about that time, sixteen, when Ludwig and Gilbert had been kicked out of Orphanage Number Five; Gilbert had already turned eighteen, and had refused to leave until Ludwig was able to; he should have left two years ago, but the insane fool was as stubborn as a brick wall; so both brothers had been kicked out of the last orphanage with haste. Now, here he was, limping on a desolate street, two black eyes blooming on his face, most likely bleeding in a great deal of places, and he swore he could feel broken bones.

Though he felt like he had been drunk, there was not a drop of alcohol in his body; he had merely made an error in judgment. Perhaps if he had spotted those damn photographs of his customer and his customer's boyfriend in said customer's house, perhaps Ludwig would not feel like a broken rag-doll spat out of the mouth of the family dog.

Oh, and that boyfriend just had to have friends, yes, Fate LOVED torturing Ludwig. Being on the losing end of a one on one fight was nothing like being defenseless against several ruthless men. How was it his fault if his customer was partnered? Should the blame surely not fall on them?

…Perhaps the people that solicited him loved that; they wanted to see him get beaten up. Have a cheap lay, see cheap lay be pummeled by your "hero" of a real man. Yes, yes, that would make sense. With each day, it seemed the bad jobs were beginning to outweigh the good. And to make matters worse, tonight, Ludwig was miles from home. Alone. In a darkened street where not another soul was wandering about; and despite a candle here or there in a small home, there was no solace for Ludwig. A man or woman would not open their home for a beaten prostitute, not like this. No one was that kind-unless they had ulterior motives.

The young man finally came to a sharp corner of a bank, getting enough strength to lean against the giant brick building, resting his back, although he was panting with such extremity, it was unbearable. There was no sanctuary, there was no hope…he would probably just collapse eventually, falling into a gutter somewhere. He imagined they would discover his corpse in the morning, frostbitten blue-wait, it was not winter? It was summer, dammit…why did he think-? Oh, probably delirium.  
Ludwig's legs shook; he could recall how badly he had been tripped, how his feet had been kicked out from under him, and how the cuckolded boyfriend and his friends had repeatedly beaten his legs with their own feet, and a few boards of wood. 

The shadows were grimy, quiet death-bringers; if he collapsed right here, on the streets, God knows what could happen, to him and his body. His soul would for sure be devoured by daybreak. There was nothing left, nothing to welcome him, nothing-…? Blue eyes widened as they gazed all around the block, in a desperate search, and there, about another block and a half, perhaps two…right near the center of Ravenna's square… were large cathedral steeples stretched to the sky, a pair, and a soft glow was illuminating from the large building, even tired, icy eyes could see that.

A church.

Was he seeing things? No…Ludwig knew that there were churches in Ravenna, he had always know that. But…he was far from pure; he could not recall the last time he had set foot in a Holy Building. But what choice did he have? If he did not receive help, at least a place to stay and heal himself, then…

Making the trip down towards the church was tiresome; the roads were slippery, stony cobblestones, and when he got to be just a little less than a block away from the cathedral, Jove's thunder roared above. A storm was coming, the July air was humid. Ludwig slowed to the pace where he was barely limping, barely walking, but it was enough; it was a church. Small incandescent lights were paired with two large oak doors, with giant steps leading up to the entrance. Roses lined the entrance, two Madonna statues situated under a duo of stained-glass windows, alight with pictures of guardian angels.

Ludwig had once been religious; he recalled tall, echoing churches, less elaborate and decorated than the Catholic churches of Italy, but churches nonetheless. Now, at twenty-five, the German did not believe in angels; he felt God had given up on him and his brother. If God allowed him to lose his family, be put in orphanages, and end up a poor soul on the streets of Italy, then there was no God. If God allowed his devoted followers, a group Ludwig used to be a part of, to end up with nothing, to be nothing, then the Holy Spirit was a figment of the mass imagination. When you have nothing to hope for, there is no use having hope at all. When you have nothing to believe in, no future to think of, there is no God to make a future for you, to give you a ideology to follow.

Not to mention that his kind was despised in a sense; not only was he laying with countless women; a whore, as the Bible would call him, he was laying with men. Though it did occur, and many regions of Italy acknowledged it, the Church, and many higher standards and people in society, called that part of Ludwig's identity a disease. But here, on the edges of mortality, Ludwig had no choice but to turn to what he had scorned, and what would, or could, shun him once his identity was revealed. Limping, nearly crawling, up the steps, the blonde fell to his knees, staring up at the oak entrance; little cherubs lined the door frame, carved right directly into the wood. Staring at the small faces looking down upon him, Ludwig was (nearly) saying a silent prayer for assistance.

And a shaking hand pounded on the door with the last of his strength, hoping for some form of a miracle. But miracles were scarce; and Ludwig could not help but remind himself of that small fact as he finally collapsed into unconscious on the church's porch.

_"AH…P-Please, n-no…"_

____

_"No, not no. Y-You mean yes. You…hah…hah…Ah, Feliciano."_

_______ _

_A whine pierced the soft bedroom, and tears dotted the younger Italian's eyes, "I beg of you, in sh-the…n-name of G-God-"_

________ _ _ _ _

_"God wants me to love you, F-Feliciano…It is why he left me here with you. He took Grandfather, so I could be here…j-just for you-"_

__________ _ _ _ _ _ _

_A cry of pain, more tears. "PLEASE!"_

____________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_Kisses dotted his back, a wet tongue teasing his skin, causing goose-bumps to blossom; he should be used to this, it happened every so often whenever the other man got an itch for his skin, for this vile act that shamed himself and his…his…Oh, God, he could not even admit what was occurring, it was too painful, too shameful, too-_

______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_"Ohh…F-Felici…"A deep, guttural moan and hips moved, for a moment at a soft speed, and then Feliciano found himself being pounded into the mattress, crying out in agony each time-BAM BAM. …Wait, what…?_

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

BAM…BAM… Feliciano shot up in bed with a start, his whole body covered with sweat, his hands shaking; the nightmares always did that to him, each and every time. They had lessened to an extent, but that was only because…it had not happened recently…at least, not in the past three weeks…or was it two? Four…? He could not keep count anymore. He normally was not roused by noise; but perhaps it was his imagination…?

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BAM… …And then silence…

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"Oi, Feli…” Lovino rolled over in his own bed, words slurred by sleep “Stop gapin’ and go check the door. Someone’s been knocking for the past five minutes ."

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"But…can't you get it, brother?" The younger brother, though wide awake, feared to leave the safety of his warm bed; the nightmares, and sometimes night-terrors, did that to him as well.

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Lovino sat up in bed, his sheets falling around him revealing a half-naked torso; it was a typical sleeping arrangement for the older one, but poor Feliciano feared repercussions if he slept with any parts of his skin exposed. Even in the summer, long pants and at least a worn shirt with short sleeves were his night attire. But Lovino did not have a problem sleeping half-naked. And that reason, his brother's joyous, exhibitionist-like display of nudity, scared Feliciano enough to stay clothed.

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

The smirk on Lovino’s face sent shivers up Feliciano’s spine, "Now, do you really want to make me get out of bed? Me? And not to mention you are…more clothed than I am… much more clothed."

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

It was a silent way to say: Get the door, or there will be consequences.

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Feliciano complied with a nod, slipping on soft white slippers, matching his shirt and pants; it seemed all the he wore was white. He could not recall the last time he wore the blue and green priest garments Stefania had bought him for his sixteenth birthday.

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_I doubt I ever have… ___

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__The white seemed to give off a message of purity; for each day, Feliciano wanted to feel pure, safe, still on God's good side. He was a priest, so there had to be some leniency, right? Feliciano felt he was a pure priest, a pure messenger of God, but as a human… He exited the bedroom with rapid speed, feeling Lovino's eyes on his body the entire time. Careful not to wake the nun in the next room over, he descended and entered another corridor, and with a swift push of his hand, the large mahogany opened into to the church itself._ _

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__The front door was the most obvious entrance, so he headed there first. He could hear the crack of lightning outside, and not a second later, a downpour erupted over Ravenna and the cathedral, rain pitter-pattering against the old windows and rooftop and bell-tower. As another crack of lightning lit up the night, Feliciano pushed open the door with a heave, glancing out through a tiny crack. There was no one standing, so he called out, while opening the entrance further, "Hello-…?"_ _

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__His eyes flew down, noticing that as he had pushed the door open further, it had been blocked…by a foot. "Oh dear…”_ _

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__Thunder-lit eyes were wide when they fell upon a body on the church's porch, a blonde man, with bloody cuts on his head, face clenched in pain. Whoever he was, whatever his identity may be, his attractive build and handsome features were belied by the rags which hung off him. The thought came to his mind quite suddenly that in another light this man might look princely._ _

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__Feliciano snapped out of his observations, instincts kicking in with rapid speed, and he bent his knees downward, placing his hands on the unconscious man's shoulders; it was obvious he was seeking sanctuary, and he had fainted before speaking what he needed. Not that there was much to assume of his needs, the poor man was soaking wet, bleeding and bruised and-  
"Ah!"_ _

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__That noise was Feliciano; he had tried to lift the man up, and immediately realized that was not going to be accomplished; this man must have been twice his size._ _

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__Well…drag him into the church? Oh dear, that would be troublesome…. Feliciano blanched at the thought; how could he drag this man, was that not demeaning? But in a Holy Place, maybe it would not seem as bad…and maybe if he pulled him down the aisle quickly enough…_ _

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__No other choice then… Feliciano put his hands in the taller man's arm-pits, and pulled, having just enough strength to tug the man along, through the doorway; after a good deal of time, the unconscious man was in the church, resting against the nearest pew while Feliciano closed the large oak doors. The rain began to fall even harder just as he did so, and he knew he had just beaten the storm-and so had this man._ _

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__But now…what to do? Feliciano possessed many skills, but his knowledge of healing only covered the soul. Looking at this broken man, who had not even stirred when Feliciano had roughly dragged him into the church, he knew that he would need more attention than Feliciano could provide._ _

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__But was one person who could help… but first, drag the man to a sick room; the priest knew that was the only place he could put him._ _

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__After a short prayer, and a deep breath, Feliciano placed his hands under the other man's arms once more, and heaved, and the dragging continued; the unconscious one's scruffy shoes scuffed the carpets, and Feliciano knew Lovino would have his head for that, but there were more important matters at hand. It actually went quite well, although every few seconds Feliciano was sure his arms would give out and the poor man would accidentally have his head ram against the nearest candelabra or pew; but then the biggest obstacle, one that Feliciano had not considered, appeared.  
After pushing open the door that led to the living quarters, there appeared a behemoth of an issue: the stairs._ _

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__The priest let out an undignified whimper, for how was he to lift the man up the stairs?_ _

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___I suppose I can continue to just…pull him along, but it could be dangerous…What about his legs… _Ah, he had no choice! He would just have to put his back into it; the sick room was just up those steps, and two doors down from his bedroom, if he was careful they would both make it in one piece.__ _ _

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____So with a heave and a ho, Feliciano began to ascend the steps backwards, dragging the man in the same way, in front of him; but the taller and more muscular mans legs did bump against the stairs with each step, just like the priest feared, but there was no stopping now. Not even when the poor bloke began letting out agonizing groans._ _ _ _

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____“D-Don’t….. worry, we’re…almost there." Feliciano was not sure if the man was coming around, but he figured he might as well talk as if it was possible. The other said nothing further, and there, there! At the top of the steps, he let out a deep breath; the difficult part was over._ _ _ _

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____Dragging the man down the rest of the hall was not a difficulty; except, when Feliciano had to pause outside his bedroom. If Lovino saw this entire ordeal, he may step in, and Feliciano did indeed hate when that happened. Loving was so controlling, treating him like a child, it was downright degrading._ _ _ _

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____But him calling you a child is not the worst thing he has done to you…A little voice in his head could not help but say. But no, Lovino was snoring lightly; the man was a heavy sleeper, which was a blessing. If all this work caused the other priest to awaken, Feliciano would pay dearly for his brother's lack of sleep._ _ _ _

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____Lack of sleep…? One day he should realize your lack of sleep… It was true; Feliciano had not slept well for years; he was a light sleeper, and every little noise tortured him at night, causing him to jump awake. He suspected the change of sleeping pattern-he used to snore through Hell and Hellfire, as Roma used to say-occurred right after Grandfather's death._ _ _ _

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____It was also an instinct-a defensive instinct, and though he wished it could help him, it rarely did. That other body always managed to snake its way into his bed, and-_ _ _ _

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_____Stop. You're distracted, so just stop. Especially, when you cannot afford to be distracted. ____ _ _ _

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______Enough stalling, Feliciano's mind told him, so he continued to softly drag the man the rest of the way to the sick room; and there it was, soft clean sheets welcoming, closed curtains a beacon of warmth. Of course, the brunette did have to lift the larger man onto the bed, for dragging was entirely impossible at this final stage. With a final heave and a bend of his knees, Feliciano got the man onto the mattress, but it was far from graceful. It was more like a 'WHOMP', nearly a throw, and the blonde man even grimaced and groaned in his sleep, causing the priest to cringe._ _ _ _ _ _

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______But, there was one more step to do; and Feliciano ran from the room, tip-toed past his own bedroom, and quietly opened the door of Stefania's bedroom. For she was a woman that knew exactly how to heal a broken soul-literally. There was not a wound she could not mend, and Feliciano suspected she had been a nurse in her younger days, before she had turned to service God. Now in her seventies, Stefania was snoring softly, and Feliciano feared to disturb her; she was known to be violent if disturbed during the night._ _ _ _ _ _

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______"Stefania?" A soft whisper, yes, the perfect way to start out. But the nun did not even stir, and there was little time to wait and keep trying with little whispers and hushed tones._ _ _ _ _ _

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______"Stefania!" Feliciano had hurriedly strolled to the side of the dame's bed, and began to shake her lightly; the slumbering, gray-haired woman mumbled in her sleep, muttering inane words._ _ _ _ _ _

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______"Stefania! PLEASE, wake up!" The priest raised his voice, and that evidently did it, for the nun in her bedchambers groaned, and rubbed her eyes, "Eh…Felici? What…Is something wrong?"_ _ _ _ _ _

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______"No, I just…I need your help."_ _ _ _ _ _

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______Green eyes stared into chocolate ones; Stefania's tongue was on the verge of releasing a barrage of questions, of concerns, of complaints, too, unfortunately, but it was two in the morning, was it not? But she kept her tongue in check. Whatever had occurred, Feliciano was asking for her silent compliance and assistance._ _ _ _ _ _

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______So silence followed the duo as they trailed silently back to the sick room…And Stefania would forever remember the sight of the man lying on his back, in the Church’s sick room. That is not to say that she would regret that sight at all…_ _ _ _ _ _

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_____________________________________________ _ _ _ _ _

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______Awakening from unconsciousness, Ludwig blearily opened his eyes, before he was able to make sense of his surroundings, his whole body flared in pain-_ _ _ _ _ _

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______"AH!"_ _ _ _ _ _

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______The horrible pain had captured his entire body, but mainly centered in his head, arms, and legs; that is not to say his chest was not crying out in agony. But his head, ohhh, his head; it felt as if it had been shoved into a wall-Oh…wait, it had. Ludwig was starting to remember it had not been much of a fight, that he had been truly outnumbered. And his left hand felt a gauze bandage circling his entire cranium; next, the German tried to lift his right arm, but let out a yelp of pain._ _ _ _ _ _

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______"I would not recommend lifting, or moving that arm, the nun that healed you stated that you had broken your wrist, and injured the other bones in there, possibly broken them."_ _ _ _ _ _

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______Swollen eyes moved to the source of the voice, and there stood a body Ludwig had not noticed before. A young man, dressed in all white, with a red shawl-scarf draping over his shoulders, stood there at the window. He held a rag that he was using to clean the glass; the curtains had been drawn back to let in the sunlight, and Ludwig gazed upon a youthful face, framed by brown curls which caught golden red in the light of the sun, some unruly strands of hair sticking out from under the white cap. The twin golden crosses on the red scarf glimmered in the rays of Sol, and so did the honey colored eyes. There was a ghost of a smile on the man's face, as well, and instantly, Ludwig recalled his last few moments before passing out…Yes, yes, the Church, so this man was-_ _ _ _ _ _

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______"…Father-Er…Pastor-"_ _ _ _ _ _

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______The other turned, a light chuckle dancing in his throat, "Please. For the moment, you may refer to me as Pastor, or Priest, Feliciano. Sometimes, I feel so old when the parishioners call me 'Father'."_ _ _ _ _ _

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______"Ah…"_ _ _ _ _ _

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______Ludwig could feel the awkwardness oozing from his skin; this had to be the most blasphemous event to ever occur, he believed. A priest and a prostitute in the same room, speaking cordially…Well, of course, he had to believe that this Feliciano knew nothing of whom he was, but of course, the German's paranoia (it came with the lifestyle, sadly) was kicking in at full gear._ _ _ _ _ _

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______"You need not worry about formalities, Mister…?"_ _ _ _ _ _

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______"OH, uh-" Lovely, he had not even introduced himself to this man, who was indeed superior to him, "Ludwig. Ludwig Beilschmidt."_ _ _ _ _ _

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______Feliciano walked across the room to a table, his dusting rag armed and ready to attack the table that a small candlestick holder was seated upon,_ _ _ _ _ _

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______"Beilschmidt? That is a German name, I presume. You are far from home then?"_ _ _ _ _ _

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______Ah, an educated, cordial priest. Ludwig did admire that, for the last few priests he had run into were more…well, they would rather shout into the air "THE DEVIL HATH COME FOR YOUR SOUL!" or hide their donation boxes and bread and wine, fearing Ludwig would steal. “Yes… Germany; that is where I am from." Although Feliciano seemed to be hospitable, Ludwig was leery to say too much information._ _ _ _ _ _

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______"Indeed, that is far." His dusting and cleaning halted, Feliciano placed the rag on the table, walking towards a wooden, rickety chair seated on the left side of the bed, "But I feel that we should…discuss the matters of your injuries. Or, well…how you got to be injured."_ _ _ _ _ _

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______"Er…" Oh, yes, just say 'I got beat up by the man I was sleeping with's boyfriend, and then his neighbors joined in, it was GRAND'… “…I really just got into a fight, a struggle, is all." That's the truth, right?_ _ _ _ _ _

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______Feliciano nodded, "Yes, that was what I assumed. Horrible fight, you looked more bruise than man. Our nun, as I said before, the one who healed you…She says your legs are in horrible shape, and she believes you will need to stay off your feet awhile. As you can see," the Italian pointed with a lightly tanned finger, "Your right arm is splintered to protect the bones there, along with the wrist, which is fully broken. Stefania had tried to move it, and you cried out in your sleep. Your left leg was battered, and when she moved her hands over that, I am not sure how you can really tell if a bone is broken or not, but you also cried out loudly there, so she said that leg had to have some fractures. Thankfully, she said the black eyes on your face should not last too long, and the head injury could have been much worse."_ _ _ _ _ _

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______"…" Ludwig grimaced at the rambled synopsis, spitting out the words, "Well, wonderful news indeed."_ _ _ _ _ _

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______"Oh come now, it could have been worse." Another ghost of a smile, "I have seen much worse, Ludwig. You should be happy to be alive, and you have been given a second chance."_ _ _ _ _ _

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______Ludwig wanted to snap, "Second chance at what?" but withheld. But he swore to Go-to someone- that if this priest started out with any "redemption" shit, he would wobble out of this place, despite his leg issues. Instead, only a grimace remained on his face, followed by silence._ _ _ _ _ _

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______The silence must have upset the priest, for the Italian frowned deeply, and the German made sure to look away from the face; After another moment of silence, with Feliciano trailing his eyes around the room, his voice piped up again, "So, why don't you tell me more about yourself, Ludwig Beilschmidt?"_ _ _ _ _ _

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______"…Why?"_ _ _ _ _ _

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______The priest blinked owlishly at the hesitant question, "Why? Well…why not? What is the harm in sharing? I did find you on my church's porch, after all. The least you could do is tell me about yourself, yes?" Feliciano paused for a moment, "I…I just thought it would be nice, too. After all, I…We usually don't have visitors in this much of a horrid state, so…"_ _ _ _ _ _

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______It was a subtle way of saying "I'm lonely" and Ludwig caught it. The Pastor was hiding that phrase, he was trying to, he feared to show it in his eyes, in his boyish tone-of-voice, but it squeaked out, and Ludwig caught it, for he had always been good at reading others._ _ _ _ _ _

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______"I…" Shit…_ _ _ _ _ _

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______"You, what? Are you a factory worker? Do not take this the wrong way, but…well, when I eyed your clothes, I assumed that you were…quite poor. So if you do not have a job, if you are unemployed, do not be ashamed to say so!" In all honesty, it was a test. Feliciano knew this man's job…he had seen the evidence last night. When Stefania had removed the man's shirt and coat, Feliciano had eyes marks on the blonde's neck, and no, they were not bruises from choking, and yes, Feliciano was a tad naïve, but not that naïve. Those were bite marks, and even if Stefania had not noticed them, or if she had just not cared to say a word about them, it did not matter. Feliciano knew what they were…he had had them before, on his own neck, and he knew where they came from._ _ _ _ _ _

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______Then again, those…marks could just show that Ludwig had a lover? A wife? There was no need to assume…_ _ _ _ _ _

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_______Oh hush, he cannot be anything else. The clothes, the smell of sweat and sex on him…you know what he is, there is no denying it…Now, if he admits it… ____ _ _ _ _ _

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"Ah, well…I guess you could say that I am, uh…" Go with factory-worker, he hinted at it! "Factory-worker, yes. Well, sometimes I am self-employed, but yes, I work in factories, and sometimes in my brother's shop that he owns here-" Ludwig stopped himself; a little white lie he had been planned on had enveloped into a giant one, and he shut up immediately; was it not a sin to lie to a priest? Ah, what did it matter-he was probably to burn in Hell anyway._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________But…had that expression on Feliciano changed to an even deeper frown…? Oh, oh, it had. "Ah…I see…"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"…You sound as if you do not believe me, Priest Feliciano…" It was a biting, accusatory tone._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"…" The younger man sighed, "No, actually, I do not, Ludwig. I must be honest and say I do not. I, in fact, can guess your true profession."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"Oh? Really now-"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Ludwig, you are some form of…sexual deviant. And I say that because I have seen the proof on your neck last night, so do not try to hide it further." It had been a rush of words, a hurried statement, as if the priest was ashamed to say it at all, and surprised to have gotten it out, but it was far from critical. It was as if Feliciano was a disappointed mother, saddened by her son's lie, and that she just wanted the truth. "And if I am wrong in my assumption, you may correct me and I apologize. But I ask you to not further lie to me."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________The German's jaw had dropped as he had try to sit up, only to able lean on one elbow in an awkward position, "How…?" Silently, Feliciano placed a hand over his neck, communicating his statement with no words; the self-touch, though, brought horrid flashbacks into the Italian's mind, of a soft, once kind mouth biting his shoulder, his neck, during rough-_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"Ah…yes…" Ludwig's voice had cut the memory away, and Feliciano said a mute prayer of thanks._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"So you are a…" It was hard for both to say the word, but with a sigh, the older one spoke the truth,_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"Yes, Priest Feliciano…I am a prostitute."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________The brunette blinked once more, staring at the man in his Church's bed; he certainly did not seem like such a character. He was handsome, reasonably polite for a man in his position, and the Italian could even bet he had once been a religious fellow. There was just that…gleam in the German's eyes that stated so. But Feliciano felt it hard to look the other in the eye, nonetheless. A wall had instantly fallen from Heaven and placed itself right between the two men._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"I see…A male prostitute…That is quite uncommon in Italy-"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"Maybe in this neighborhood, Pastor, but not mine. Maybe in your little quiet, rich-like areas, but not in the underground of Italy, or Germany."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"In case you have not seen, Ludwig, all of Italy is poor at the moment. And we have been poor for a few years." The pastor tried to cover his tone, he feared it was biting, nearly downright scathing-which it was._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"And so has Germany, Priest Feliciano. And I hope you do not think I actually chose this job of my own free-will."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"…" The brunette remained silent for the moment, then replying with, "It…is not my right to say my judgments, or even judge at all, for-"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"'For that is God's will', yes? Is that the line you were going to feed me, my good Sir?" Ludwig's eyes had gone from cold, to scorching anger. This priest…he was just like the rest, was he not…Judging him, saying he was just the scum of the Earth._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"Ah…" Feliciano leaped from the chair, "No, no, Ludwig, you…you are mistaken, Sir. Really. I…I just wish not to judge-"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"But you do."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"N-No, of course not, I would never-"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"No. You do judge. You do it because it is human nature." The blonde replied coldly, "And I dare you to say you are inhuman, for we both know you are not, even if you are a holy man."  
"I…" Feliciano took a deep breath, "I would like to believe you did not want this…position that you hold. That it was society that forced it upon you…." He nearly said "Satan" or "Sin", but the Italian knew if he did, he would cross a line that did could not be uncrossed._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"That is one way to put it, I suppose…" Ludwig grumbled, "But no, I didn't want this. Do I look like a man that WOULD want this? Especially when it leads to this?"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Feliciano started, "You mean…you got in a fight over…Because of…Because you're…"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________All the German replied with was a nod and a sigh, and the cold hand of Guilt wrenched its way around Feliciano's heart. "I see…" With not a sound, the priest returned to the small, wooden seat, "Well…I hope you are not offended by what I first believed. It is only because…"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"Because you have seen others like me before? Again, Pastor, that is judging. But…I suppose I can forgive you for that. You are not the first to judge me."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________The priest remained silent again for some time, and the German was not wont to speak as well. It was a mixed silence, it held a serenity both had been praying for ever since this conversation had first begun, but there was still that twinge of uncomfortable air-that miasma of horrid, under-the-surface anger that threatened to boil, bubble and burst at any second, lest the wrong word was spoken._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________And the wrong word was spoken._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________For, in all truths, Feliciano hated awkward silences, and it seemed he was not making a great impression on his injured "charge". So, might as well talk, yes? Or try to; but he really should not have gone down the road he chose._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"Well…Ludwig, Sir…" After the German had decided to lay back on the mattress once more, "Perhaps you can…think of this as a good thing?"  
"Getting beaten up is now a good thing? I'm sorry, I did not receive the letter about that change." The sarcasm was dripping like venom._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"N-No, I mean…you, ending up here, at the church…" The German's eyes moved to lock with the brunette's, and the glimmer they held silently stated: Where are you going with this?_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"W-What I mean is, God, he's…he's giving you a second chance, isn't he? Perhaps he is trying to steer you onto the right path, show you any errors you have made, and maybe change, maybe sa-"  
Ludwig sat up, screw the pain; he did not care, his anger overrode it, anyway. "What? SAVE me? CHANGE me? You think God is giving me a sign NOW?"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"Ah…Please, there is no need to shout; perhaps I…should not have said that, I-"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"You THINK? Listen, you…you think you know about us, about my kind, my people, even ME, but you don't!" The taller one's voice was rising higher and higher, decibel by decibel, and Feliciano would have feared that his brother would hear, but thankfully Lovino had gone to the market, for his weekly speech in the square, and his weekly shopping trip as well._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"I…I just…" Feliciano hated shouting, fighting, arguing, and instantly, the look of a whipped puppy came to light on his face._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"You…You're just like all the other priests! Thinking you can save us, save me, save the world, that we're just sinners. YOU do not realize that God has turned his backs on some of us. That he doesn't help us, that we're on our own, suffering, and no one can save us. Or heal us, or hear us, or even help us!"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"…I do realize that…" But it was an inaudible murmur, and Ludwig failed to hear it._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"You…you think you can save every soul, every man, woman, and child that comes into your church, under your care, I bet you never stop trying, do you?"  
"…" Feliciano dared not speak, and turned his face away from the ranting, injured man; turn the other cheek, which was all he could do._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"You just…You're ALL like this, aren't you? And...And you do it for your own personal glory too, the whole lot of you! Just...do it because it makes you feel good, or because it's your 'duty', or because you don't really, care, you just pity us, without knowing us!" He did not really mean it as a personal attack against Feliciano, no, in all truths, he thought this man was kind, and genuine, if not a little misguided. But were we not all a little misguided? No, it was just that Feliciano's words had been the last straw on the camel's back._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"…" Without a sound, Feliciano stood, and with stiff strides, he reached the door, "...I have a mass in fifteen minutes, I must go." he stated stiffly, and now Guilt was wrapping around Ludwig's own heart._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"You must stay here for some days, and if that upsets you, I apologize. But you are not in…in the capacity…Y-You do not have the ability to walk well, and as a priest, it is my duty not to let an invalid walk the streets like so…I will bring you lunch after the morning mass."And with that, he was gone, shutting the door quietly behind him._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Staring at the door for some minutes, Ludwig found himself being ashamed of his behavior; irrationally snapping at the one person who had helped him, who had found his body and taken him in, and even when…even when Feliciano figured he had been a member of that…seedy society filled with lust and debauchery, he had not turned him away. In fact, the first things he had said to him were good advice, good tidings, and any religious comments had not been said out of harm, unlike the other priests he had run into. With a cringe and a groan, the German laid back down, eyes fixed on the ceiling._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________What a lovely situation this had turned into; he only hoped that the next time he saw the small pastor, his food would not be poisoned, and that that brunette would be actually smiling.  
He had barely gotten through the mass; the German's words were ringing in his head, and he wondered if they were true. Multiple times, while reciting the Word, he had choked up, messed up the words, and had nearly stumbled down the steps. Had Feliciano acted like some pretentious savior? Hoping that each lost soul would…would what…?  
Would get me on God's good side again…? After all the sins I have been a part of…?_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________The brunette was strolling in the small church garden, near the building itself. Doves and sparrows were flying and flittering about, while the roses opened their faces unto him, smiling their aromatic smile._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Maybe I just…No, I want to save these souls because I am a kind person, I have no doubt there…but was there…is there…an underlying motive I am not aware of…? One that I wished into existence accidentally…?_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________That thought made him bite his lip, and hug himself; no, it was not just because it was his sacred duty, but because he wanted to…and because there were worse people out there than him.  
There are some people that are not taken against their will every other night, for years straight…By someone that they still care deeply about…_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________A lump formed in his throat but he swallowed it down. He was questioning again, and there was no choice but to turn to the One he could always trust._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Stretching out his arms to his side, lifting his hands up to the sky, and taking graceful steps, almost as if he was dancing in that small garden, Feliciano came to a stepping stone, and spoke, and reciting one of his favorite quotes from the Holy Book, "Be strong and of a good courage, fear not, nor be afraid...for the Lord thy God, he it is that doth go with thee; he will not fail thee, nor forsake thee. Father…Please, tell me that I am…that I am doing the right thing! That I am a good soul, that…that I am okay, that you are not angry…that this man who is my church is…is not fearing me, angered with me, that…" his voice broke off there, and he folded his hands in prayer, "Please, feel that I have not strayed, that I do all of this for you! And that I am a kind soul! Please! I…I would never do this if I was not genuinely caring!"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Not two seconds later, every bird in the garden took to the sky, cooing and flapping their wings, and a smile blossomed on Feliciano's face; this…this had to be a sign! He could not help the smile ghosted his lips, and instantly, he felt lighter, and could not help dancing in that small square of cobblestone, the trees blocking some of the summer light, but also making rays sprinkle down on his body, like dust and broken fragments of glass._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Feliciano had not felt this alive, and had this much faith in his life and destiny and position, in years._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________And as he twirled about for a few moments, eyes of bright blue of a head of fair hair were watching him from inside the building…and believing they had not seen such a lovely and holy sight in many years…  
____________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Lovino had returned, and Feliciano explained they had a guest, an injured man, that had to stay a few days. Of course, the older brother insisted on meeting said guest, and a shameful Feliciano lied "He's sleeping, let him rest."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Surprisingly, this turned out not to be a lie-at least not when Feliciano returned to the room; Ludwig was out like a light, snoring heavily. Well, at least now, the priest could prepare his guest for meeting his older brother mostly guilt-free, for Feliciano feared Lovino would be much crueler if he found out what Ludwig really was._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Quietly tiptoeing in, the brunette put down a plate holding a small sandwich and fresh fruit on the bedside table, right near the bed; but, just as he was walking away, a hand shot out, grabbing his wrist and Feliciano nearly shrieked, but once he realized it was Ludwig, not Lovino, he stopped himself._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"Mmhmm…sorry about…earlier…"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Chocolate eyes widened at the sleepy murmur, and the dazed smile on the man’s face. "It…Y-You are forgiven, of course, Ludwig. No harm done."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"Heard another voice…someone…sorta yelling…?"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"My brother, I am afraid…You shall meet him later, just get some rest."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Ludwig nodded, "Yeah…okay…" A soft yawn, and the German nuzzled and settled back under the covers, "Thanks…And…you want to know…the honest truth?"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"I was not informed that there were different types of truth, Ludwig." A short, sweet smile danced on Feliciano's lips._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"Heh. So you're not just a humorless religious man….Anyway, I just meant…I just meant to say that you're…you're one of the better priests I've met around here."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"…" Feliciano did not reply, instead displaying a looked of semi-abashed shock; with a nod a moment later, did he reply with, "I feel honored to have that said about me. Now, rest. And there is  
food there when you want it."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________As he exited the room, Feliciano turned and realized that Ludwig was asleep once more…_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> when i think about this fic a lot im like, shouldn't italy have been the prostitute and germany the priest? lol w/e. it works this way too


	4. Chapter I (Unedited)

"Nothing but heaven itself is better than a friend who is really a friend."

\- Titus Maccius Plautus

Ravenna, Italy, 1931

There are just some things one cannot do in a society; take, for example, our dear fellow Ludwig Beilschmidt. He himself has committed a dire sin in this small Italian city.

He slept with the wrong man.

Now, do not misunderstand me; it is not as if this has not happened before. No, Ludwig knows the risks he takes with his 'profession'. There have been numerous times when he was solicited by a fiery female, who would lead him to her small cottage, commence the business of sexual activity, and not two minutes later would a husband come home, and pound him into pieces; of course, he would fight back, and he would fight back well, but…Well, his luck just seemed to run out on him half the time, and his face usually took such a beating, it was unrecognizable for days.

And as for the men, oh dear, that was even worse. If he found himself being solicited by a partnered man, and said partner arrived home, or found them in bed together the next morn…Ugh, it never ended well.

Sadly, in all retrospective purposes, Ludwig's luck had not always been this horrible, and it never always was. Many a night was successful, him netting a few Lira here or there; and hey, the sex was not half-bad either. But the German immigrant was not a prostitute for the sex; well, that was only half true. It was alright, he enjoyed it (only sometimes, but do not tell his 'customers' that), but it was more for the money. He needed that money.

If one could have asked Ludwig if he really wanted this job, the steely glare of pure, unadulterated doom would have been the response given. Of COURSE he did not want this job! But when you were orphaned at the age of six, and the last remaining members of your family are only your (possibly insane) brother and yourself, what are you to do?

Thankfully, Gilbert was no where near Ravenna; he was nowhere near Italy in general, thank the Blessed Lord. The platinum-locked lad had decided to stay in Germany, the home-land of both Beilschmidt brothers. Ludwig, meanwhile, believing he had nothing to lose, ventured south, to Italy.

Germany's economy was in dire straits, and its political prowess was also in an uproar; some bloke named Adolf trying to achieve power and all that jazz, Ludwig was not sure on the details. The seedy Italian underground provided little information on Germany, mainly speaking of the Italian leader instead. And it was because of the unrest, the dire straits, that Ludwig had spent the last few coins he had, chancing a trip to the Italian world; oh, do not misunderstand me once more, Ludwig had always been a prostitute, even in his country of birth.

With little education, and the jobs running short in both nations, the blonde male had no choice but to sink to the lowest levels and obtain the 'world's oldest profession'. Ludwig had never been given the chances that many other Germans had received; the places he and Gilbert had occupied were rat-holes, not caring of his heritage (pure-blooded German, God-Dammit!), or whom his Grandfather had been; granted, neither Beilschmidt lad knew a great amount of details about their late relative-er, relatives. Grandfather, with his flowing blonde hair, had been a quiet soul, and had not uttered words about his relations, his brothers and sisters; and with his death, images of being in three (or was it four? Five?) orphanages before turning seventeen were the only memories that truly stood out in Ludwig's mind. His brain could recall little else.

It was about that time, seventeen, when Ludwig and Gilbert had been kicked out of Orphanage Number Five; the older, red-eyed one had already turned nineteen, and had refused to leave until Ludwig was able to; he should have left two years ago, but the insane fool was a stubborn as a brick wall; so both Beilschmidt brothers had been kicked out of the last shanty with fast speed. Now, here he was, limping on a desolate street, two black eyes blooming on his face, most likely bleeding in a great deal of places, and he swore he could feel broken bones.

Though he felt like he had been stupidly drunk, there was not a drop of alcohol in Ludwig's blood-stream; he had merely made a faulty error in judgment. Perhaps if he had spotted those damn photographs of his male 'customer' and his 'customer's boyfriend' in said (non-paying, of course, there is a bonus, ha!) customer's house, perhaps Ludwig would not feel like a broken rag-doll in a child's worn-out, never-opened-henceforth toy box.

Oh, and that boyfriend just had to have friends, yes, Fate LOVED torturing Ludwig enough to where allies of the hurt boyfriend would come out and join in on his pummeling. That was always grand. How was he to know that his customer was with someone? How was he to know that being a prostitute meant getting the crap kicked out of you on a regular basis, because you made a faulty error, by sleeping with the wrong male or female?

…Perhaps the people that solicited him loved that; they wanted to see him get beaten up. Have a cheap lay, see cheap lay be pummeled by your "hero" of a real man. Yes, yes, that would make sense. Or maybe they did it for thrills in other places; there was not a doubt in the blonde's mind that some of his customers had tried to cry rape on him, just because they could; that had been another reason he had not only left Germany, but had traveled around it a great deal. Every day, each day, it seemed the bad 'jobs' were beginning to outweigh the 'good'. And to make matters worse, tonight, Ludwig was miles from home. Alone. In a darkened street where not another soul was wandering about; and despite a candle here or there in a small home, there was no solace for Ludwig. A man or woman would not open their home for a destitute prostitute, not like this. No one was that kind-unless you were hiring the male prostitute yourself.

The twenty-five year old finally came to a sharp corner of a bank, getting enough strength to lean against the giant brick building, resting his back, although he was panting with such extremity, it was unbearable. There was no sanctuary, there was no hope…he would probably just collapse eventually, falling into a gutter somewhere. He would bet they would discover his corpse in the morning, dying of frost-wait, it was not winter? It was summer, dammit…why did he think he would die of-? Oh, probably delirium.

Ludwig's legs shook; he could recall how badly he had been tripped, how his feet had been kicked out from under him, and how the cuckolded boyfriend and his friends had repeatedly beaten his legs with their own feet, and a few boards of wood. And yes, in case one was to wonder, there had been other bystanders, not giving even the tiniest bit of assistance.

The shadows were grimy, cringing death-bringers; if he collapsed right here, on the streets, God knows what could occur, to him and his body. His soul would for sure be devoured by the night. There was nothing left, nothing to welcome him, nothing-…? Blue eyes widened as they gazed all around the block, in a desperate search, and there…down there, about another block and a half, perhaps two…right near the center of Ravenna's square…large cathedral steeples stretched to the sky, a pair, and a soft glow was illuminating from the large building, even tired, icy eyes could see that.

A church.

Was he seeing things? No…Ludwig knew that there were churches in Ravenna, he had always know that. But…he was far from a pure soul; he could not recall the last time he had set foot in the Holy Building. But what choice did the man have? If he did not receive help, at least a place to stay and heal himself, then…

Making the trip down to the large building was tiresome; the roads were slippery, stony cobblestones, and when he got to be just a little less than a block away from the cathedral, Jove's thunder roared above. A storm was coming, the July air was humid. The Beilschmidt boy got to the point where he was barely limping, barely walking, but it was enough; it was a church, he had not been imaging with a pained brain. Small incandescent lights were paired with two large oak doors, with giant steps leading up to the entrance. Roses lined the entrance, two Madonna statues situated under a duo of stained-glass windows, alight with pictures of guardian angels.

Now, Ludwig used to be religious; when he was a lad, his brother had called him the "Holy Blonde", mainly because well…Gilbert was uncreative with that last part of the name, but it was the word 'holy' that truly mattered! Nevertheless, now, at twenty-five, the German did not believe in angels; he felt God had given up on him, if not both Beilschmidt boys. If God allowed him to lose his family, be put in orphanages, and end up a poor soul on the streets of Italy, then there was no God. If God allowed his devoted followers, a group Ludwig used to be a part of, to end up with nothing, what he was now, nothing, then the Holy Spirit was a figment of the mass population's imagination. When you have nothing to hope for, there is no use having hope at all. When you have nothing to believe in, no future to think of, there is no God to make a future for you, to give you a ideology to follow.

Not to mention that his kind was despised in a sense; not only was he laying down with dozens upon dozens of women and men in general, a whore, that was what the Bible would call him, he was laying down with men. Though it did occur, and many of the poorer regions of Italy acknowledged it, the Church, and many higher standards and people in society, called that little part of Ludwig's personality a disease. But here, on the edges of mortality, Ludwig had no choice but to turn to what he had scorned, and what would, or could, shun him once his identity was revealed. Limping, nearly crawling, up the steps, the blonde fell to his knees, staring up at the oak entrance; little cherubs lined the door frame, carved right directly into the wood. Staring at the small faces looking down upon him, Ludwig was (nearly) saying a silent prayer for assistance.

And a shaking hand pounded on the door with the last of his strength, hoping for some form of a miracle. But miracles were scarce; and Ludwig could not help but remind himself of that small fact as he finally collapsed into unconscious on the church's porch.

"AH…P-Please, n-no…"

"No, not no. Y-You mean yes. You…hah…hah…Ah, Feliciano."

A whine pierced the soft bedroom, and tears dotted the younger Italian's eyes, "I beg of you, in th-the…n-name of G-God-"

"God wants me to love you, F-Feliciano…It is why he left me here with you. He took Grandfather instead, so I could be here…j-just for you-"

A cry of pain, more tears. "PLEASE!"

Kisses dotted his back, a wet tongue teasing his skin, causing goose-bumps to blossom; he should be used to this, it happened every so often whenever the other party got an itch for his skin, for this vile act that shamed himself and his…his…Oh, God, he could not even admit what was occurring, it was too painful, too shameful, too-

"Ohh…F-Felici…"A deep, guttural moan and hips moved, for a moment at a soft, safe speed, and then Feliciano found himself being pounded into the mattress, crying out in agony each time-BAM BAM. …Wait, what…?

BAM…BAM… Feliciano shot up in bed with a start, his whole body covered entirely with sweat, his hands shaking; the nightmares always did that to him, each and every time. They had lessened to an extent, but that was only because…it had not happened recently…at least, not in the past three weeks…or was it two? Four…? The Italian could not keep count anymore. What normally did not wake him up was a sound; but perhaps it was his imagination…?

BAM… …And then silence…

"Oi, Feliciano…" Lovino rolled over in his own bed, "Stop sitting there with a gaping mouth and go open the door. Someone's been knocking for the past five minutes, at LEAST."

"But…c-can't you get it, brother?" The younger lad feared to leave the safety of his warm bed; the nightmares, and sometimes night-terrors, did that to him as well.

The other Vargas sat up in bed, his sheets falling around him revealing a half-naked torso; it was a typical sleeping arrangement for the older one, but poor Feliciano feared repercussions if he slept with any parts of his sensitive skin exposed. Even in the summer, long pants and at least a worn shirt with short sleeves were his attire of choice for night. But oh, Lovino did not have a problem sleeping half-naked, if not full frontal nude. And that reason, his brother's full-frontal joyous, exhibitionist-like display of nudity, scared Feliciano enough to stay clothed.

The smirk on the older Italian sent shivers up the other priest's spine, "Now, do you really want to make me get out of bed? Me? And not to mention you are…more clothed than I am…Very, very much more clothed."

It was a silent way to say: Get the door, or I shall punish you in the most pleasurable-for me, of course-ways.

Feliciano complied with a nod, slipping on soft white slippers, matching his shirt and pants; it seemed all the lithe Italian wore was white. He could not recall the last time he wore the blue and green priest garments Stefania had bought him for his sixteenth birthday.

I doubt I ever have…

The white seemed to give off a message of purity; for each day, Feliciano wanted to feel pure, safe, still on God's good side. He was a priest, so there had to be some leniency, right? Feliciano felt he was a pure priest, a pure messenger of God, but as a human… He exited the bedroom with rapid speed, Lovino's eyes on his body the entire time; careful not to wake the nun in the next room over, the Vargas boy descended and entered another corridor, and with a swift push of his hand, a large mahogany door led to the church itself.

The knocking was loud enough to where it had to have come from the main church entrance, so Feliciano tried there first. He could hear the crack of a lightning bolt outside, and not a second later, a downpour erupted over Ravenna and the cathedral, rain pitter-pattering against the windows and rooftop and bell-tower. As another crack of lightning lit up the Italian night, Feliciano pushed open the door with a heave, glancing out through a tiny crack. There was no one standing, so he called out, while opening the entrance further, "Hello-…?"

His eyes flew down, noticing that as he had pushed the door open further, it had been blocked…by a foot. "Oh dear…"

Sepia eyes were wide when they fell upon a prone body on the church's porch, a blonde lad, with bloody cuts on his head, eyes closed in pain. Whoever he was, whatever his identity may be, he was muscular, but in rags. Feliciano noted he had the face of a princely schema, but his clothes could nearly be classified as that of a beggar's, at least a seller of goods', someone poor, despondent, dependent on society to help him get through life. He was no prince; this was a pauper-like male sprawled out in his doorway.

Feliciano's dutiful instincts kicked in with rapid speed, and he bent his knees downward, placing his hands on the unconscious man's shoulders; it was obvious this human was seeking sanctuary, and he had fainted before speaking what he needed, so the priest would have to step in and just assume the worst. Not that there was much to assume, the poor male was bleeding and bruised and looked downright horrible-

"Ah!"

That noise was Feliciano; he had tried to lift the poor soul up, to carry in his arms, and immediately realized that was not going to be accomplished; he had nearly hurt his back and legs that time!

Well…drag him into the church? Oh dear, that would be a tad…awful. Feliciano blanched at the thought; how could he drag this man, was that not demeaning? But it was in a Holy Place, maybe it would not seem as bad…and maybe if he just hurriedly pulled him down the aisle…

No other choice then… The Vargas boy put his hands in the taller man's arm-pits, and pulled, having just enough strength to tug the man along, through the doorway; after a good deal of minutes (poor Feliciano had to struggle, yes that was true. It was hard to even tug the body-Feliciano needed to gain more upper body strength), the unconscious poor soul was in the church, resting against the nearest pew while the brunette closed the large oak doors. The rain began to fall even harder just as he did so, and Feliciano knew he had just beaten the storm-and so had this man.

But now…what to do? If one does not realize it yet, Feliciano was not always…the most rationally bright boy; this man was injured, but he did not exactly have to skills to determine how he was injured, why he was injured, without asking said invalid, of course. And said invalid was out cold-he had not even uttered a sound during all the hubbub of Feliciano groaning nearly mutely while trying to drag him. And Feliciano was far from a nurse; he knew some basics, how to tie a bandage here, put a cold pack there, but really…he was a healer of the soul, not of the body.

But there may be one person who could help… But first, drag the male to the guest room; the twenty-three year old knew that was the only place he could put the beggar-looking lad, for lying in a pew would, well…let us just say that, from experience, Feliciano knew it was not comfortable.

After a short prayer, and a deep breath, Feliciano placed his hands under the other man's arms once more, and heaved, and the dragging continued; the unconscious one's scruffy shoes scuffed the church carpeting, and the Vargas knew his Lovino would have his head for that, but there were more important matters at hand. It actually went quite well, although every few seconds Feliciano hypothesized his arms would give out and the poor man in his arms would accidentally have his head ram against the nearest candelabra or pew; but then the biggest obstacle, one that Feliciano had not considered, appeared. After pushing open the door that led to the living quarters, there appeared a behemoth of an issue:

The stairs.

"…" The priest let out an undignified whimper, for how was he to lift this blonde visitor up the stairs?

I suppose I can continue to just…pull him along, but it could be dangerous…What about his legs… Ah, he had no choice! He would just have to put his back into it; the guest-room was just up those steps, and two doors down from his bedroom, there was a good chance everything would go perfect!

So with a heave and a ho, Feliciano began to ascend the steps backwards, dragging the man in the same way, in front of him; but the taller and more muscular mortal's legs did bump against the stairs with each step, just like the priest feared, but there was no stopping now. Not even when the poor bloke let out agonizing groans.

"D-Don't worry, we're almost there." Feliciano was not sure if the man was coming around, but he figured he might as well talk as if it was possible. The other said nothing further, and there, there! That was the top of the steps, and when Feliciano reached them, he let out a deep breath; victory should not taste this sweet, and he should not gloat in his victory, but a tiny, microscopic piece of his soul just could not resist doing so.

Dragging the prone one down the rest of the hall was not a difficulty; except, when the Vargas boy had to pause outside his bedroom. If Lovino saw this entire ordeal, he may step in, and Feliciano did indeed hate when that happened. Feliciano felt that the older Vargas treated him like a child so much, it was downright degrading.

But him calling you a child is not the worst thing he has ever done to you, Feliciano…A little voice in his head could not help but say. But no, Lovino was snoring lightly; the man was a heavy sleeper, which was also a blessing. If all this work caused the other priest to awaken, Feliciano would pay dearly for his brother's lack of sleep.

Lack of sleep…? One day he should realize yourlack of sleep… It was true; Feliciano had not slept well for years; he was a light sleeper, and every little noise tortured him at night, causing him to jump awake. He suspected the change of sleeping pattern-he used to snore through Hell and Hellfire, as Roma used to say-occurred right after his Grandfather's death.

It was also an instinct-a defensive instinct, and though he wished it could help him, it rarely did. That other body always managed to snake its way into his bed, and-

Stop. You're distracted, so just stop. Especially, when you cannot afford to be distracted.

Enough stalling, Feliciano's mind told him, so he continued to softly drag the male down the rest of the trek to the guest room; and there it was, soft bed sheets welcoming, closed curtains a beacon of warmth. Of course, the brunette did have to lift the taller male onto the bed, for dragging was entirely impossible at this final stage. With a final heave and a bend of his knees, Feliciano got the beggar-looking soul onto the mattress, but it was far from…genial and graceful. It was more like a 'WHOMP', nearly a throw, and the blonde man even grimaced and groaned in his sleep, causing the priest to cringe. Alright, so he was not exactly GOOD at this whole "saving the unconscious" thing.

But, there was one more step to do; and Feliciano ran from the room, tip-toed past his own bedroom, and quietly opened the door of Stefania's bedroom. For she was a lass that knew exactly how to heal a broken soul-literally. There was not a wound she could not mend, and Feliciano suspected she had been a nurse in her younger days, before she had turned to service God. Now in her seventies, Stefania was snoring softly, and the Vargas feared to disturb her; she was known to be just as…violent if disturbed during the night as Lovino was.

"Stefania?" A soft whisper, yes, the perfect way to start out. But the nun did not even stir, and there was little time to wait and keep trying with little whispers and hushed tones.

"Stefania!" Feliciano had hurriedly strolled to the side of the dame's bed, and began to shake her lightly; the slumbering, gray-haired woman mumbled in her sleep, muttering some inane words about "Those Central Powers!"

"Stefania! PLEASE, wake up!" The priest raised his voice, and that evidently did it, for the nun in her bedchambers groaned, and rubbed her eyes, "Eh…Felici? What…Is something wrong?"

"No, I just…I need your help."

Green eyes stared into chocolate-hued ones; Stefania's tongue was on the verge of releasing a barrage of questions, of concerns, of complaints, too, unfortunately, but it was two in the morning, was it not? But she kept her tongue in check. Whatever had occurred, Feliciano was asking for her silent compliance and assistance.

So silence followed the duo as they trailed silently back to the guestroom…And Stefania would forever remember the sight of the man lying on his back, in the Church's guestroom. That is not to say that she would regret that sight at all…

"Uhh…"

When one falls into a state of unconscious, it is an interesting event that occurs when one awakens from it. First, there is the groggy opening of the eyes; second, comes the pain-

"AH!"

And then comes then horrible realizations that one is not where he was before the event of falling into darkness; that is exact order of steps Ludwig was going through at that exact moment.

Horrible pain warped his entire body, but mainly centering around his head, arms, and legs; that is not to say his chest was not crying out in agony. But his head, ohhh, his head; it felt as if his cranium had been shoved into a wall of a building-Oh…wait, it had. Yes, the men fighting him-er…wounding him was more like it. Ludwig was starting to remember it had not been much of a fight, that he had been truly outnumbered. And a left hand felt a gauze bandage circling his entire cranium; next, the blonde German tried to lift his right arm, but let out a yelp of pain.

"I would not recommend lifting, or moving that arm, for the nun that healed you stated that you had broken your wrist, and injured the other bones in there, possibly broken them."

Blue eyes flashed to the voice coming from the room, and there stood a body the Beilschmidt had not noticed before. A young man, dressed in all white, with a red shawl-scarf draping over his shoulders, flowing down to his body, stood there, at the window, a rag in his hands that he was using to clean the glass; the curtains had been drawn back to let in the sunlight, and Ludwig gazed upon a face of youth, with brown curls and strands of hair sticking out from a white cap. The twin golden crosses on the red fabric glimmered in the rays of Sol, and so did the light-caramel colored eyes. There was a ghost of a smile on the man's face, as well, and instantly, Ludwig recalled his last few moments before passing out…Yes, yes, the Church, so this man was-

"…Father-Er…Pastor-"

The other turned, a light chuckle dancing in his throat, "Please. For the moment, you may refer to me as Pastor, or Priest, Feliciano. Sometimes, I feel so old when the parishioners call me 'Father'."

"Ah…"

Ludwig could feel the awkwardness oozing from his skin; this had to be the most blasphemous event to ever occur, he believed. A priest and a prostitute in the same room, speaking cordially…Well, of course, he had to believe that this Feliciano knew nothing of whom he was, but of course, the German's paranoia (it came with the lifestyle, sadly) was kicking in at full gear.

"You need not worry about formalities, Mister…?"

"OH, uh-" Lovely, he had not even introduced himself to this man, who was indeed superior to him, "Ludwig. Ludwig Beilschmidt."

Feliciano walked across the room to a table, his dusting rag armed and ready to attack the table that a small candlestick holder was seated upon, "Beilschmidt? That is not an Italian name, if I remember my teachings correctly. You are far from home, then?"

Ah, an educated, cordial priest. Ludwig did admire that, for the last few priests he had run into were quiet…well, they would rather shout into the air "THE DEVIL HATH COME FOR YOUR SOUL!" or hide their donation boxes and bread and wine, fearing Ludwig would steal it all. "Yes…Germany; that is where I am from." Although Feliciano seemed to be all hospitable, Ludwig was leery to say too much information.

"Indeed, that is far." His dusting and cleaning halted, Feliciano placed the rag on the table, walking towards a wooden, rickety chair seated on the left side of the bed, "But I feel that we should, well…discuss the matters of your injuries. Or, well…how you got to be injured."

"Er…" Oh, yes, just say 'I got beat up by the man I was sleeping with's boyfriend, it was grand. And then his neighbors joined in, it was DANDY'… "Well…I really just got into a fight, a struggle, is all." That's the truth, right?

Feliciano nodded, "Yes, that was what I assumed. Horrible fight, you were pretty beat up, really. Our nun, as I said before, the one who healed you…She says your legs are in horrible shape, and she believes you will need to stay off your feet awhile. As you can see," the Italian pointed with a lightly tan finger, "Your right arm is splintered to protect the bones there, along with the wrist, which is indeed broken. Stefania had tried to move it, and you cried out in your sleep. Your left leg was completely battered, and when she moved her hands over that, I am not sure how you can really tell if a bone is broken or not, you also cried out loudly there, so she said that leg had to have some fractures, or breaks, or at least some horrid injury. Thankfully, she said the black eyes on your face should not last too long, and the head injury could have been much worse."

"…" Ludwig grimaced at the news, spitting out the words, "Well, wonderful news indeed."

"Oh come now, it could have been worse." Another ghost of a smile, "I have seen much worse, Ludwig. You should be happy to be alive, and you have been given a second chance."

Ludwig wanted to snap, "Second chance at what?" but withheld. But he swore to Go-to someone- that if this priest started out with any "redemption" crap, he would wobble out of this place, despite his leg issues. Instead, only a grimace remained on his face, followed by silence.

The silence must have upset the priest, for the Italian frowned deeply, and the blue-eyed German made sure to look away from the face; After another moment of silence, with Feliciano trailing his eyes around the room, his voice piped up again, "So, why don't you tell me more about yourself, Ludwig Beilschmidt?"

"…Why?"

The priest blinked owlishly at the hesitant question, "Why? Well…why not? What is the harm in sharing? After all, I feel that you should. I did find you on my church's porch, after all. The least you could do is tell me about yourself, yes?" Feliciano paused for a moment, "I…I just thought it would be nice, too. After all, I…We usually don't have visitors in this much of a horrid state, so…"

It was a subtle way of saying "I'm lonely" and Ludwig caught it. The Pastor was hiding that phrase, he was trying to, he feared to show it in his eyes, in his boyish tone-of-voice, but it squeaked out, dripped out very quietly, and Ludwig caught it, for he had always been good at reading others.

"I…" Shit…

"You, what? Are you a factory worker? Do not take this the wrong way, but…well, when I eyed your clothes, I assumed that you were…quiet poor. So if you do not have a job, if you are unemployed, do not be ashamed to say so!" In all honesty, it was a test. Feliciano knew this man's job…he had seen the evidence last night. When Stefania had removed the man's shirt and coat, the Vargas boy had eyes marks on the blonde's neck, and no, they were not bruises from choking, and yes, Feliciano was a tad naïve, but not that naïve. Those were bite marks, and even if Stefania had not noticed them, or if she had just not cared to say a word about them, it did not matter. Feliciano knew what they were…he had had them before, on his own neck, and he knew where they came from.

Then again, those…marks could just show that Ludwig had a lover? A wife? There was no need to assume…

Oh hush, he cannot be anything else. The clothes, the smell of sweat and sex on him…you know what he is, there is no denying it…Now, if he admits it…

"Ah, well…I guess you could say that I am, uh…" Go with factory-worker, he hinted at it! "Factory-worker, yes. Well, sometimes I am self-employed, but yes, I work in factories, and sometimes in my brother's shop that he owns here-" Ludwig stopped himself; a little white lie he had been planned on had enveloped into a giant one, and he shut up immediately; was it not a sin to lie to a priest? Ah, what did it matter-he was probably to burn in Hell anyway.

But…had that expression on Feliciano changed to an even deeper frown…? Oh, oh, it had. "Ah…I see…"

"…You sound as if you do not believe me, Priest Feliciano…" It was a biting, accusatory tone.

"…" The younger man sighed, "No, actually, I do not, Ludwig. I must be honest and say I do not. I, in fact, can guess your true profession."

"Oh? Really now-"

"Ludwig Beilschmidt, you are some form of…sexual deviant. And I say that because I have seen the proof on your neck last night, so do not try to hide it further." It had been a rush of words, a hurried statement, as if the priest was ashamed to say it at all, but it was far from judging, far from critical. It was as if Feliciano was a disappointed mother, saddened by her son's lie, and that she just wanted the truth. "And if I am wrong in my assumption, you may correct me and I apologize. But I order you to not further lie to me."

The German's jaw had dropped as he had try to sit up, only to able lean on one elbow in an awkward position, "How…?" Silently, Feliciano placed a hand over his neck, communicating-repeating-his statement with no words; the self-touch, though, brought horrid flashbacks into the Italian's mind, of a soft, once kind mouth biting his shoulder, his neck, during rough-

"Ah…yes…" Ludwig's voice had cut the memory away, and Feliciano said a mute prayer of thanks.

"So you are a…" It was hard for both to say the word, but with a sigh, the older one spoke the truth,

"Yes, Priest Feliciano…I am a prostitute."

The brunette blinked once more, staring at the man in his Church's bed; he certainly did not seem like such a character. He was decently clean, polite, and the Italian could even bet he had once been a religious fellow. There was just that…gleam in the German's eyes that stated so. But Feliciano felt it hard to look the other in the eye, nonetheless. A wall had instantly fallen from Heaven and placed itself right between the two men.

"I see…A male prostitute…That is quite uncommon in Italy-"

"Maybe in this neighborhood, Pastor, but not mine. Maybe in your little quiet, rich-like areas, but not in the underground of Italy, or Germany."

"In case you have not seen, Ludwig Beilschmidt, all of Italy is poor at the moment. And we have been poor for a few years." The pastor tried to cover his tone, he feared it was biting, nearly downright scathing-which it was.

"And so has Germany, Priest Feliciano. And I hope you do not think I actually chose this job of my own free-will."

"…" The brunette remained silent for the moment, then replying with, "It…is not my right to say my judgments, or even judge at all, for-"

"'For that is God's will', yes? Is that the line you were going to feed me, my good Sir?" Ludwig's cerulean-hued eyes had gone from cold, to scorching anger. This priest…he was just like the rest, was he not…Judging him, saying he was just the scum of the Earth.

"Ah…" Feliciano leaped from the chair, "No, no, Ludwig, you…you are mistaken, Sir. Really. I…I just wish not to judge-"

"But you do."

"N-No, of course not, I would never-"

"No. You do judge. You do it because it is human nature." The blonde replied coldly, "And I dare you to say you are inhuman, for we both know you are not, even if you are a holy man."

"I…" Feliciano took a deep breath, "I would like to believe you did not want this…position that you hold. That it was society that forced it upon you…." He nearly said "Satan" or "Sin", but the Italian knew if he did, he would cross a line that did NOT need to be crossed.

"That is one way to put it, I suppose…" Ludwig grumbled, "But no, I didn't want this. Do I look like a man that WOULD want this? Especially when it leads to this?"

Feliciano started, "You mean…you got in a fight over…Because of…Because you're…"

All the German replied with was a nod and a sigh, and the cold hand of Guilt wrenched its way around Feliciano's heart. "I see…" With not a sound, the priest returned to the small, wooden seat, "Well…I hope you are not offended by what I first believed. It is only because…"

"Because you have seen others like me before? Again, Pastor, that is judging. But…I suppose I can forgive you for that. You are not the first to judge me."

The priest remained silent again for some time, and the German was not wont to speak as well. It was a mixed silence, full of comforting silence, a serenity both had been praying for ever since this conversation had first begun, but there was still that twinge of uncomfortable air-that miasma of horrid, under-the-surface anger that threatened to boil, bubble and burst at any second, lest the wrong word was spoken.

And the wrong word was spoken.

For, in all truths, Feliciano hated awkward silences, and it seemed he was not making a great impression on his injured "charge". So, might as well talk, yes? Or try to; but he really should not have gone down the road he chose.

"Well…Ludwig, Sir…" After the German had decided to lay back on the mattress once more, "Perhaps you can…think of this as a good thing?"

"Getting beaten up is now a good thing? I'm sorry, I did not receive the letter about that change." The sarcasm was dripping like pure, lecherous venom.

"N-No, I mean…you, ending up here, at the church…" The German's eyes moved to lock with the brunette's, and the glimmer they held silently stated: Where are you going with this?

"W-What I mean is, God, he's…he's giving you a second chance, isn't he? Perhaps he is trying to steer you onto the right path, show you any errors you have made, and maybe change, maybe sa-"

Ludwig sat up, screw the pain; he did not care, his anger overrode it, anyway. "What? SAVE me? CHANGE me? You think God is giving me a sign NOW?"

"Ah…Please, there is no need to shout; perhaps I…should not have said that, I-"

"You THINK? Listen, you…you think you know about us, about my kind, my people, even ME, but you don't!" The taller one's voice was rising higher and higher, decibel by decibel, and Feliciano would have feared that his brother would hear, but thankfully Lovino had gone to the market, for his weekly speech in the square, and his weekly shopping trip as well.

"I…I just…" Feliciano hated shouting, fighting, arguing, and instantly, the look of a whipped puppy came to light on his face.

"You…You're just like all the other priests! Thinking you can save us, save me, save the world, that we're just sinners. YOU do not realize that God has turned his backs on some of us. That he doesn't help us, that we're on our own, suffering, and no one can save us. Or heal us, or hear us, or even help us!"

"…I do realize that…" But it was an inaudible murmur, and Ludwig failed to hear it.

"You…you think you can save every soul, every man, woman, and child that comes into your church, under your care, I bet you never stop trying, DO you?"

"…" Feliciano dared not speak, and turned his face away from the ranting, injured man; turn the other cheek, which was all he could do.

"You just…You're ALL like this, aren't you? And...And you do it for your own personal glory too, the whole lot of you! Just...do it because it makes you feel good, or because it's your 'duty', or because you don't really, care, you just pity us, without knowing us!" He did not really mean it as a personal attack against Feliciano, no, in all truths, he thought this man was kind, and decently genuine, if not a little misguided. But were we not all a little misguided? No, it was just that Feliciano's words had been the last straw on the camel's back.

"…" Without a sound, Feliciano stood, and with stiff strides, he reached the door, "...I have a mass in fifteen minutes, I must go." he stated stiffly, and now Guilt was wrapping around Ludwig's own beating organ, "You must stay here for some days, and if that upsets you, I apologize. But you are not in…in the capacity…Y-You do not have the ability to walk well, and as a priest, it is my duty not to let an invalid walk the streets like so…I will bring you lunch after the morning mass."And with that, he was gone, shutting the door quietly behind him.

Staring at the door for some minutes, Ludwig found himself being ashamed of his behavior; irrational snapping at the one person who had helped him, who had found his body and taken him in, and even when…even when Feliciano figured he had been a member of that…seedy society filled with lust and debauchery, he had not turned him away. In fact, the first things he had said to him were good advice, good tidings, and any religious comments had not been said out of harm, unlike the other priests he had run into. With a cringe and a groan, the German bloke laid back down, eyes fixated on the ceiling.

What a lovely situation this had turned into; he only hoped that the next time he saw the small pastor, his food would not be poisoned, and that that brunette was actually smiling.

He had barely gotten through the mass; the German's words were ringing in his head, and he wondered if they were true. Multiple times, while reciting the Word, he had choked up, messed up the words, and had nearly stumbled down the steps. Had Feliciano acted like some pretentious savior? Hoping that each lost soul would…would what…?

Would get me on God's good side again…? After all the sins I have been a part of…?

The brunette was strolling in the small church garden, near the building itself. Doves and sparrows were flying and flittering about, while the roses opened their faces unto him, smiling their aromatic smile.

Maybe I just…No, I want to save these souls because I am a kind person, I have no doubt there…but was there…is there…an underlying motive I am not aware of…? One that I wished into existence accidentally…?

That thought made the Italian bite his lip, and hug himself; no, it was not just because it was his sacred duty, but because he wanted to…and because there were worse people out there than him.

There are some people that are not taken against their will every other night, for years straight…By someone that they still care deeply about…

A tear threatened to release itself, but he brushed it away. He was questioning again, and there was no choice but to turn to the One he could always trust.

Stretching out his arms to his side, lifting his hands up to the sky, and taking graceful steps, almost as if he was dancing in that small garden, Feliciano came to a stepping stone, and spoke, and reciting one of his favorite quotes from the Holy Book, "Be strong and of a good courage, fear not, nor be afraid...for the Lord thy God, he it is that doth go with thee; he will not fail thee, nor forsake thee. Father…Please, tell me that I am…that I am doing the right thing! That I am a g-good soul, that…that I am okay, that you are not angry…that this man who is my church is…is not fearing me, angered with me, that…" A sob croaked out of his throat, and he folded his hands in prayer, "Please, feel that I have not strayed, that I do all of this for you! And that I am a kind soul! Please! I…I would never do this if I was not genuinely caring!"

Not two seconds later, every single bird in the garden took to the sky, cooing and flapping their wings, and a smile blossomed on Feliciano's face; this…this had to be a sign! He could not help the laugh that escaped his pink lips, and instantly, he felt light as a feather, and could not help dancing in that small square of cobblestone, the trees blocking some of the summer light, but also making rays sprinkle down on his body, like dust and broken fragments of glass.

Feliciano had not felt this alive, and had this much faith in his life and destiny and position, in years.

And as he twirled about for a few moments, eyes of bright blue of a head of fair hair were watching him from inside the building…and believing they had not seen such a lovely and holy sight in many, many years…

A Few Hours Later- One in the Afternoon

Lovino had returned, and without much explanation, Feliciano explained they had a guest, an injured man, and that he had to stay a few days. Of course, the older Vargas insisted on meeting said guest, and to a shameful Feliciano, the younger brother lied with the classic "He's sleeping, let him rest." gag.

Surprisingly, this was not a lie-at least not when Feliciano returned to the guest bedroom; Ludwig was out like a light, snoring heavily, like a machine. Well, at least now, the priest could prepare his guest for meeting his older brother mostly guilt-freee, for Feliciano feared Lovino would be much crueler-if he found out what Ludwig really was, the German would be out on the streets faster than one could say "maypole".

Quietly tiptoeing in, the brunette sat down a plate holding a small sandwich and fresh fruit on the bedside table, right near the bed; but, just as he was walking away, a hand shot out, grabbing his wrist and Feliciano nearly screamed, but once he realized it was Ludwig, not Lovino, he stopped himself.

"Mmhmm…sorry about…earlier…"

Chocolate eyes widened at the sleepy murmur, and the dazed smile on the Beilschmidt's face. "It…Y-You are forgiven, of course, Ludwig. No harm done."

"Heard another voice…someone…sorta yelling…?"

"My brother, I am afraid…You shall meet him later, just get some rest."

Ludwig nodded, "Yeah…okay…" A soft yawn, and the German nuzzled and settled back under the covers, "Thanks…And…you want to know…the honest truth?"

"I was not informed that there were different types of truth, Ludwig." A short, sweet smile danced on Feliciano's lips.

"Heh. So you're not just a humorless religious man….Anyway, I just meant…I just meant to say that you're…you're one of the better priests I've met around here."

"…" Feliciano did not reply, instead displaying a looked of semi-abashed shock; with a nod a moment later, did he reply with, "I feel honored to have that said about me. Now, rest. And there is food there when you want it."

As he exited the room, Feliciano turned once more…and realized that even before he left the room, Ludwig was asleep once more…


End file.
